CHRISTIAN DOUBT
Psalm 9:9-20 2 Corinthians 6:1-13 Mark 4:35-41
As our liturgical cycle of reading takes us through Mark’s Gospel on the Sunday’s after
Pentecost in this year, one of the threads we encounter again and again is that
of doubt. I think we often hear about
Christian faith and hope – today, let us look for a moment at Christian doubt.
Perhaps you are sailing on smooth seas today. If so, what I have to say may not reach you in
a deep place. But many of us are
experiencing rough seas in our lives: in our homes and jobs, in our health and with
our families — all with their wind and waves of fear and anxiety. At times, we want to send out an SOS:
“Lord, save me!” And in the depth of our
hearts, questions stir. We ask, in our
own way, “Why the storm? Who is this
Jesus? Can he, will he, really calm the
storm?”
In times of crisis, we are likely to cry out, silently our
aloud, “God, why is this happening?”
“Where are you? Don’t you
care?” And as often, we are admonished
to believe with doubting, to hold our faith without wavering. It is as if a sign has been posted at the
entryway to our minds: “No Doubts Allowed!”
But truth be told, doubt is a very real part of who
we are. Mark’s gospel emphasizes to us
that doubt is human, it is necessary, and doubt affirms our faith. Just as there is no sense of loss at parting where
there is no love, so there is no doubt where there is no hope, no expectation,
no faith. The opposite of faith is
unbelief, not doubt.
And so I say this morning, “Take heart.” We have before us a small piece of a terse
and compact piece of writing – the Gospel, the Good News, according to
Mark. Think about the folks to whom this
was originally aimed. They were
misunderstood, rejected and reviled, persecuted, and assaulted. Families were broken; livelihoods jeopardized,
and long revered traditions crumbled around them. We just heard Paul’s laundry list of the
costs of discipleship.
Into this world of difficulty, Mark sends the message that
even those closest to the Christ were full of doubt and uncertainty; were capable
of missing the point; were fearful and anxious.
And yet — the wonderful, blessed “and yet” of the God who loves us — and
yet, Jesus loved, he blessed, he spoke peace, he delivered, he healed, he fed,
he overcame. And Mark wants us to know
that that wonderful hope in God through the victorious Christ reaches far — to
everyone of us. And Mark is always
reminding us that it is about the Christ’s person and work — NOT about ours.
It is worth a quick look at what is happening on the Sea
of Galilee on this dark and stormy night. It is a story told also in Matthew and Luke; a
story with great meaning to folks of varied backgrounds; a wonderful story to
tell again and again.
The third chapter of Mark closes with Jesus going up on a
mountain to escape the pressing crowds and, calling his disciples, choosing
twelve of them to be apostles — representatives — including Judas. In the ancient tradition of the rabbis, these
twelve are now yoked to this teacher. He
then, in Mark’s words, “went home.” (3:19b)
Almost immediately, a large crowd gathers again. Jesus’ family, fearing for his wellbeing and
questioning his sanity, comes to restrain him.
Some in the crowd are saying he is out of his mind and scribes who have
come from Jerusalem accuse him of
being possessed by demons.
Jesus warns that the worst thing we can do is to cut
ourselves off from the love of God and to deceive ourselves into thinking we
are doing the will of God when we are, in fact, doing the work of the evil
one.
See how Mark keeps the image of a cosmic battle between God
who orders the universe and the chaos of evil and darkness before us.
Then, speaking in parables, Jesus tells stories intended to
reveal the Kingdom of God
to those with eyes to see and ears to hear and as evening falls, they set out
for “the other side.” We have to keep
two things before us: the use of words in a repressive environment often point
us to deeper truth and the use of symbols — light and dark, the sea, the winds
— are keys to understanding.
Setting sail at night is to set off into the abyss. Notwithstanding that from time to time we
hear stories of the disciples fishing at night, for the most part, the sea
holds enough danger in light without sailing out into the realm of
darkness. To our modern and scientific
minds, darkness is something to be managed with artificial light. Our understanding of weather may not enable
us to avoid destructive storms but we look at them as consequences of the laws
of physics, of heating and cooling and dynamics. But in biblical times, darkness is the realm
of evil, the sea is the home of great monsters and the primordial chaos
exhibited in its unpredictability; sudden storms are the result of malevolent
spirits angered by invasion of their rightful realm.
The storm arises; these fishermen, who have surely
encountered storms on the sea many times, are filled with fear. They are crossing to the other side and in
the darkness when this sudden storm casts them at the mercy of the wind and
waves, an evil tempest of dread proportions.
Note the small and easy-to-miss phrase, “…and other boats
were with him.” The disciples have
Jesus, their rabbi, their leader, in the boat, but what about the others? They are caught in the same tempest,
threatened with the same devastation. To
whom can they turn? What can they do? There is an implication certainly, that they
are caught in this maelstrom for the simple reason that they are, unknowingly,
standing in the middle of a great battle between God and Satan.
The disciples, overcome with fear, realize Jesus is
asleep. Here is where “Christian doubt” shows
itself. Not, “It’s OK; God will help
us!” Not, “Let’s just trust God and
everything will be fine.” No, they
shout: “Don’t you care? We’re dying and
you sleep!”
I recently read a story that goes to the heart of the
matter. In one of my new favorite books,
The Guernsey Literary and
Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and brought to press after
her death by her niece, Annie Barrows, there is a story told of Juliet, the
central character by her childhood priest:
“… when she was ten years old,
Juliet, while singing the fourth stanza of His
Eye Is on the Sparrow, slammed her hymnal shut and refused to sing another
note. She told our choir director the
lyrics cast a slur on God’s character; we should not be singing it. He escorted Juliet to my office for me to
reason with her. I did not fare very
well. Juliet said, ‘Well, he shouldn’t
have written, his eye is on the sparrow — what good was that? Did [God] stop the bird from falling down
dead? Did he just say, ‘Oops’? It makes God sound like he’s off bird-watching
when real people need him.’ I felt
compelled to agree with Juliet on this matter — why had I never thought upon it
before? The choir did not sing and has
not since sung His Eye is on the Sparrow.”
(p. 45).
Two of the most sincere, most meaningful prayers found in
the New Testament occur in the midst of a sea tempest. The disciples see Jesus walking on the water
as they sail across the lake at night and are afraid. Peter steps out of the boat at Jesus’
call. But he takes his eyes off the
Christ, sees the waves, and, well, hear it in Matthew’s words:
But when he saw the strong wind he
became afraid. And starting to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” (MATT
14:30)
Over the years, I have come to realize that there is prayer
and fasting and then there is PRAYER and FASTING. Over and over, I have seen, when tragedy
strikes, when crises beyond our control hit, there is no appetite for food — only
a desire to pray and that with simplicity and honesty. “Lord, save me!” “God, don’t you care?”
Jesus wakes and rebukes the storm; immediately the wind calms,
the waves subside. Then turning to the
disciples, he speaks with a note of admonition, “Still no faith?” And how do they react? Do they say, “Thank you Lord, for our
deliverance?” No, rather they ask, and I
doubt in an academic sense, “Who is this?”
They respond with fear rather than with thanksgiving. They
see Jesus as so different, so unlike the person he is that they
are frightened rather than thankful. He is wanting them to come
close, to enter the Kingdom of God but their fear keeps becomes a
barrier. Perhaps you have heard the words of
invitation to Communion so often, they’ve lost their ability to lift
and to challenge
you: Take them in remembrance that Christ
died for you and feed on him in your hearts, by faith, with thanksgiving.
Life, like this Gospel story, is difficult. It presents us with questions and hard
challenges. There is no attempt to
answer all our questions. Why does God
allow the chaos and evil that rage in our lives at times?
The story assures us however, that through the life, death,
and resurrection of Christ, the Triune God has dominion over the forces of
evil. God doesn’t say, “Oops!” The story
challenges us to learn trust in the face of doubt; of our inability to
understand and to exercise our faith, trusting deeply in God, in all our
circumstances. We are not given a reason
for the storm, but we are given assurance that God is in control.
It also reminds us that when we exercise our faith, folks
who are not even in our boat may experience the calm that God’s presence brings
to the churning sea.
The twelve who were closest to Jesus during his lifetime
faced the same challenges to faith as those in the early days of the church and
in our own day. Mark, in his way,
encourages us to come to God with our doubts; to pray loudly to God in our
trials. "Who then is this, that
even the wind and the sea obey him?"
He is the one who never fails us, he is the Lord.
The psalmist says it plainly:
The
LORD will be a refuge for the
oppressed, a refuge in time of trouble.
Those who know your Name will put their trust in you, for you never
forsake those who seek you, O LORD.
Amen
The Rev. John Dryden Burton
St. James Episcopal Church
Springfield, Missouri
21 JUNE 2009